Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone

She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running

There are some nights when sleep plays coy, aloof and disdainful. And all the wiles that I employ to win

I keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,

You drink a bitter draught. I sip the tears your eyes fight to… A cup of lees, of henbane steeped… Your breast is hot, Your anger black and cold,

Give me your hand Make room for me to lead and follow you beyond this rage of poetry.

Her arms semaphore fat triangles, Pudgy hands bunched on layered hip… Where bones idle under years of fa… And lima beans. Her jowls shiver in accusation

We, unaccustomed to courage exiles from delight live coiled in shells of lonelines… until love leaves its high holy te… and comes into our sight

There is no warning rattle at the… nor heavy feet to stomp the foyer… Safe in the dark prison, I know t… light slides over the fingered work of a toothless

I note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy. Some declare their lives are lived

I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,

A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing

We were entwined in red rings Of blood and loneliness before The first snows fell Before muddy rivers seeded clouds Above a virgin forest, and

Pretty women wonder where my secre… I’m not cute or built to suit a fa… But when I start to tell them, They think I’m telling lies. I say,